


As Pure as a River

by Sunny_Trin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not Romance, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22891675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunny_Trin/pseuds/Sunny_Trin
Summary: Stiles is just the useless human kid... until he decides to do something about it. But when no one wants to help him, Stiles decides that he's going to have to learn to be greater alone - until, that is, a certain sourwolf comes across his path.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey, Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 121





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! If you're unfamiliar with my work I'm a chronic procrastinator who never finishes anything EXCEPT FOR THIS because the final chapter is already done, I just have about three in the middle I need to write to fill the piece out. 
> 
> Unfortunately, I feel like I owe it to y'all then to point out that it's a cliffhanger ending. The piece deliberately ends on an unknown.

“Look, I know I’m just the human kid. But you’re human and you don't let that get in your way. I just want to be able to help. I got thrown into this supernatural crap with no say-so of my own. I can’t just abandon Scott. So you can’t tell me that I’m not involved in this, because I am. I’m just asking you to help me defend myself. Isn’t that enough? Wanting to be able to defend myself against the supernatural mumbo-jumbo that keeps trying to kill me anyway?”

* * *

“Look, Stiles. You’re right. You are involved in it. But you aren’t a target. So long as you continue to not be a target, you’re safer than me. You’re safer than Allison. I understand where you’re coming from, I really do. But I can’t in good conscious arm a 17-year old boy.”

* * *

“Stiles. I wish I could help you. But it isn’t that simple. Not everyone can just become a druid like that. This stuff is dangerous. And I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m not doing it, Stiles.”

* * *

“Stiles, I know you mean well. And as harmless as it sounds, teaching you Archaic Latin, I’m dating Aiden now. He knows you like me. Yes, he told me. And if I spend too much time with you alone behind closed doors, he’ll get suspicious. I don’t want him to hurt you Stiles.”

* * *

Stiles groaned in frustration. He’d gone to Lydia, he’d gone to Deaton, he’d even gone to Chris Argent out of supreme frustration and the most he’d been given was a website with a Latin dictionary, and a big pile of nothing.  
Of course, after Lydia –trustworthy comrade-in-weird Lydia –had said no to him, Stiles hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the rest up to chance. He’d taken an RFID chip with him to Deaton’s and planted it in his car. They didn’t know where Deaton lived, but Stiles was about to find out.  
Chris was even easier. The Argent house was so huge that it was just a matter of pretending to leave, then hiding out in the den until Chris had left. After that, he was able to download a copy of the bestiary, swipe a handful of bullets, and he was off again. If he needed anything else, he would have to ask to talk to Allison, but considering she was dating Isaac, he had a good fake excuse lined up. After all, no one could say that Scott was over it.

Stiles felt kind of strange going behind everyone’s backs, but they were constantly leaving him out of things.

Everyone except Scott. Scott always included him. And it made Stiles feel guilty, not saying anything to Scott. But it was for his own good. Scott was always looking out for him, always protecting him. Stiles had turned into the one always dragging him behind, instead of dragging him forward, pulling Scott into reckless and dangerous situations. And now that Scott had entered a world that was truly dangerous, Stiles was left miles behind in the dust. For once, right when Scott truly needed him, Stiles couldn’t do anything.

And if Stiles could do something about that, he was going to. Scott didn’t need to know. Scott had a lot to worry about on his own, practically inheriting all the problems that came with being the alpha in Beacon Hills, not to mention the two alpha twins who had essentially been abandoned by Deucalion nipping at his heels. Scott didn’t need to carry Stiles’ burdens on top of that. In fact, Stiles didn’t want him to. It was just one more in the long list of ways in which Scott didn’t need him anymore.

So Stiles followed Deaton home and snuck into his seriously fortified house. Not many would have noticed it, but not only was mistletoe growing by the bush outside, but the wood was almost entirely a pale buttercream yellow. Stiles would have bet it was mountain ash.

Of course, Deaton wasn’t defending against another human, he was defending against werewolves. So Stiles had no problem sneaking in while Deaton was gone. And with a camera phone ready, he was able to copy half a dozen books in three hours. That put his timing to within a half-shift at the clinic, and under when a person would take a lunch, so he felt confident pushing it.

The fact that slim to none of the books were in English didn’t really matter. With the website that would allow him to translate Archaic Latin, he would have only a mild amount of difficulty translating the text.

Mild turned out to be an understatement. Including the bestiary, only three of the books were in Latin. The rest were in some transliterated form of Gaelic, and that was going to be a little trickier.

He’d managed to find a website that translated some form, but it wasn’t the same, so Stiles was left against a wall. He sighed and closed his work. The copies of the books were saved onto a hard-drive, password protected (and encrypted as soon as he figured out a way to employ Danny’s help without causing any suspicions), and when he wasn’t using it, locked in a safe and surrounded by mountain ash. It wouldn’t deter Scott if he really wanted access to it, but it probably helped that the safe was in his bedroom closet. Again, wouldn’t deter someone who really wanted access to it, but they had no real reason to suspect him of anything, so hiding a safe in the bottom of his closet and labeling it “porn stash” guaranteed that anyone who wanted to snoop around his room assumed it was something embarrassing, and not something supernatural. And Stiles was okay with that. Stiles was okay with people thinking he was an awkward teenager, just so long as they didn’t think he was a threat.

It was hard to think of it in those terms –the same terms that Allison’s father had used. But the man had a point. As long as he could, he needed to seem harmless. His biggest advantage was the fact that in the world of werewolves, no one took a human kid seriously. His impulsivity sometimes made that a problem, when he rushed headlong into a situation and revealed how much he actually knew. But too many people had died.

It was so frustrating, because he’d been focused before. The supernatural was Scott’s problem, and Stiles wanted to help Scott, because Scott was his friend. The absolute devotion that came with having Scott as his friend meant that he’d done as much research as he could into it.

But this was different. Ever since Deaton had told him to “be the spark” he’d thought about it. About the fact that people like Jennifer and Deaton seemed able to keep up with this supernatural world in a way he’d never been able to. And the one time he’d felt in control was when he’d drawn that circle of ash. He’d felt control then, felt that line of power around that building, felt when he’d released it. He hadn’t felt in control like that since all this supernatural stuff had happened. And Derek freaking Hale had to ask him to pull the barrier down, because it was Stiles’ power that was stopping him.

So Stiles kept pushing, changing tactics when something didn’t work, but continuing to find a way. He was intrigued to discover that the mountain ash that Deaton swore by went by another name, and that it wasn’t a rare tree at all. He would have thought, due to its mystic nature, that it would have been difficult to come by. But he was able to find a reliable source and back-up source for rowan in only a matter of days. It took a little over two weeks though to make a small set of rowan throwing knives –pointed so they were almost stakes, really –even with the aid of the school’s wood shop. He’d started sneaking in late at night after everyone else had gone home.

It probably looked really suspect, using power tools in a darkened school in the middle of the night, but there was no other good way for him to get knives. He was under 18 so he couldn’t buy anything, and all of his friends refused to help. Stiles was working on a fake ID angle, but it would take time to get something good. So he was stuck with his makeshift knives. They wouldn’t work in the long run, since they weren’t very sharp, but considering they were rowan infused with aconite, they didn’t have to be sharp.

He would need to learn how to shoot a gun eventually, but he could wait for that until he turned 18. No sense in getting his father into any unnecessary trouble for Stiles' recklessness. The gun could wait.

He’d started sleeping only every other day in order to finish the knives in a timely manner, and had gotten into the habit a little bit too easily. It would probably get him into trouble eventually, and even with the calming techniques he’d been taught, he kept waking up at four in the morning even on the days he did sleep. But he just got so much more done this way. And because he woke up early, Stiles was able to reserve 2 hours in the morning for extra exercise. He’d drive into the woods, practice for a few hours, and be back at school by six-thirty.

Days at school were spent restlessly. He didn’t trust any sensitive information on his phone or in a notebook, so instead he spent as much of the day in school doing homework so he had more free time once he got home.

He’d only managed to translate one of the books after a month, even with all his brainpower and half of his nights devoted to the task. But he was starting to pick up bits and pieces of Latin, so the next book came easier. Which was good because he had to devote some time to actually studying the one book he’d managed to translate.

It came around to blood. The druids were always peaceful, but they weren’t always afraid of spilling a little human blood to get their way. But the blood was freely given -a sacrifice. Blood couldn’t be taken; it had to be offered.So it wasn’t so much the blood that was important, as the sacrifice involved in giving it. And there were precious few greater sacrifices as giving part of your lifeblood. It made Stiles wonder if there were other things he could sacrifice instead, but the more he read, the more it seemed that not a lot of other things worked.

There were certain materials that could boost someone’s abilities -rowan being the strongest. But they were limited in what they could do. Most things needed to be primed, and there were only so many ways a person could do that. This book didn’t say what -but it did heavily imply that regardless of anything else, there was nothing as strong as blood sacrifice.

Okay, so that was why Deaton had said it was dangerous. The more Stiles looked, the more determined he became. If he had been able to use magic once, there had to be a way he could use it again. And he was getting close to the answer.

* * *

“...And then she said that even though she was dating Isaac now, that she still had feelings for me and that it wasn’t good for us to hang out alone, and I don’t know what to do. Stiles, you’ve got to… Stiles? Wait, Stiles, are you studying?” Scott stopped himself abruptly.

Stiles shrugged. “With everything that’s been going on lately, I thought it would be a good idea to get ahead in my classes. You know, in case someone else winds up in the hospital and our lives get railroaded again.”

Scott looked over. The assignment he was doing wasn’t one that Scott recognized. “What class is this for?”

Stiles looked down. “Oh. Yeah, it’s for Economics. It’s next month’s assignment. I convinced Coach to give me the work early.”

The look on Scott’s face could have suggested he thought Stiles had grown a second head. “You’re doing homework early?”

“Yeah. I should have tried this ages ago; I’m getting so much done this way.”

“Stiles!” Scott leaned in angrily. “I’m trying to tell you about my relationship problems and you’re doing next month’s homework?”

Stiles leaned back defensively. “Hey, I heard you. Conflicting feelings, don’t want to lose your friendship with Isaac or Allison, but they’re dating and it’s weird. I think you should find yourself another girlfriend. It’d solve all these issues.”

Scott blinked at him. “I don’t want another girlfriend. I want Allison.”

Stiles stopped at that and looked up at him. He sighed. “Look I’m trying to be sympathetic, I honestly am, but don’t you think we have bigger problems to worry about? The twins being back in town, the looming spooky Nemeton threat, and that thing Deaton said about darkness being drawn here now… are you really fretting about Allison?”

Scott opened and closed his mouth several times before falling silent. “Okay, fine. We can talk about what you want to talk about.”

“Good.” Stiles said, dropping his head and continuing to study. The rest of the lunch period was spent in silence.

* * *

Stiles couldn’t help but feel guilty about the interaction later, so he invited Scott to hang out after school. Stiles started to realize he’d made a mistake almost instantly. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ancient Gaelic words swimming in his head, and the translations he had left to do.

“So how many classes are you ahead in?”

Stiles glanced up from his fidgeting. “Just the one. No one else would give me the assignments more than a couple days in advance.”

Scott fell silent. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. Then in a rush, he said, “So what do you think I should do about  
Allison not wanting to hang out with me?”

Stiles snorted, hands in his lap momentarily still but leg still bouncing. “You have no idea what to talk about if it isn’t Allison, do you?”

“Well what else do I have to talk about?” Scott threw his hands up in the air. “There’s nothing going on right now. The alpha pack is gone, and that foreboding message about the Nemeton unleashing darkness in Beacon Hills hasn’t actually happened yet. I feel like… waiting on the edge of a storm.”

“The only thing you can do is prepare.” Stiles whispered, thinking heavily about all the studying he was supposed to be doing right now. Then Stiles looked at Scott sharply and said, “You know what? I have a brilliant idea. Why don’t you ask Allison to help you prepare.”

Scott’s face scrunched up. “With what?”

“Tracking, hand-to-hand combat… let’s be real, here, Scott. The only reason we’re still alive is because we’ve been lucky. You need to know how to fight better.”

A look of thoughtful mulling came over Scott’s face slowly as he contemplated the idea. He started to nod. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll go over there and see if she wants to train with me. Thanks, Stiles.”

Scott’s hand clapped Stiles on the shoulder, and then he was gone, retreating to find Allison. As Stiles went to gather his tools, he couldn’t help but feel a small resentful swell. No doubt Allison would agree to sparring. Or rather, she would counter the recommendation with sparring for herself, Isaac, and Scott, and maybe even the rest of the werewolves. And Nice-Guy Scott would say yes, even if it compromised his “alone time” with Allison.

But no one would invite Stiles. Stiles was always left behind. He felt the resentful pit in his chest ache. No more. He wasn’t going to be left behind forever.

He snapped the cord to his hard drive in forcefully, pulling out his notebook.


	2. Chapter 2

It was halfway through the first book in Gaelic that he realized what the difference was. You could coax something into helping you -such as forming an ash circle out of rowan -but you couldn’t change its core nature. Quartz was a cleanser, rowan was a defender, moonlight was a transformer, feverfew was a healer, mandrake was a destroyer. This core nature could not be changed. So quartz would scatter energy off of an object it rested with, feverfew steeped into a tea would cure a cold, and placing mandrake in a bowl of milk under someone’s bed would cause vivid nightmares and hallucinations. But blood was where the magic of the living flowed through the body. It carried Life in liquid form, and that power was enough to bend the laws of physics and change something’s nature. It could undo the great magic of the Nemeton tree and blacken it with dark magic, or transform a natural-born human into a creature of moonlight. It could boost the power of a spell beyond its natural means. Life was filled to the brim with magic, as was Death. And so death in a spell would almost guarantee fantastic results. Good crops for the rest of the year, the end of a terrible plague spreading across the land… or power greater than any human should be able to wield, in the case of the darach. 

Stiles found himself shivering as he marked down a couple of different elements the book recommended. As he did so, he received a text

_ Allison said yes :D but she wants to bring Isaac D: So now it’s me and her and isaac AND aiden and erica and boyd? :((( _

Stiles snorted. Predictable. 

_ Sounds like u got the whole gang _

Stiles replied, trying to goad Scott into offering Stiles to join them. Let him be wrong about this, at least. Scott was his best friend. He wouldn’t be so selfish as to forget to invite Stiles, right?

His phone buzzed again as he was drawing a rough sketch of jimson weed. 

_ Practically except for derek. I wanted alone time with Allison! This bites  _

Stiles felt as though all the air had been taken out of the room for one blinding moment as he read the statement. Then something hot and treacherous started to ooze across his spine. Not even Scott. Loyal to a fault Scott did not even want to train with the useless burdensome human. Scott would rather hang out with people on his level. Stiles wasn’t even considered part of the “gang” he was so human and pathetic. There was a moment when he almost threw his phone at the wall. Instead he gripped his pencil so hard that it broke in two. The room seemed to flicker and dim when the broken edge skated across his skin, pain shaking his vision. He shook himself and threw the broken pencil away.

Stiles threw himself into his work then. Even started doing it during class when he finally crashed from sleep deprivation. He spent a good deal of the next day ignoring Scott, though they were too good of friends for that to last long. But as he and  _ freaking Ethan of all people  _ discussed plans for their little wolf-out sessions over his head, that pit of resentment hardened and grew sharp. And Stiles started retreating slowly but surely, becoming more absorbed in his work.

Then he set a tattoo appointment for the end of the month. 

He was starting to understand now why Scott had been so set on getting those two bands of transformation. It just felt right. And as he stared at the powerful magic symbol in his book, he got a similar sensation of his own, clarified by the absolute devotion he’d been throwing at the subject.

Technically, he was still only seventeen. But this was something he could get away with without his father finding out. 

The symbol wasn’t Gaelic -it wasn’t even from any of the books he had picked out. It had been annotated in by a previous reader, in the section about protection spells. The symbol itself though was Icelandic, and even looking at it sitting on the page, he could feel the protection energy seeking activation. Apparently a long time ago, the Northern people had learned how to create power in their very words. This symbol radiated strength. It was called the Aegishjalmur, and after being the slow and pathetic human dragging everyone down, Stiles itched to have a talisman to take into battle. 

He’d wanted it in his skin even before he’d read up on it on the internet. So with a bad fake ID but an extremely generous tip to a tattoo artist outside of town, he was able to get it grafted into his skin.

And then he was reminded that his best friend is a werewolf. 

“Stiles, you smell like blood! What happened, man?”

“Calm down, man, it’s fine. I’m just a klutz is all.”

The words were out of his mouth almost faster than it took him to realize he was lying to his best friend. But this symbol was special and sacred in a way that felt strange sharing with just anyone.

Logically he knew, knew with bone-deep certainty, that Scott had his back. They hadn’t been friends since birth for nothing. But after being ignored and treated like a fragile human for so long by so many different people, he didn’t want to tell anyone about this. Not until his offence matched his defense. And the fact that Scott had run off with a bunch of betas to train and not even thought to include Stiles rankled and burned and made it hard to remember that best friends shared everything.

Scott, of course, looked like he did Not believe him. But he didn’t say anything about it, and Stiles ignored the skip in his heartbeat that betrayed to both of them the fact that he’d just lied to his best friend. Perhaps Scott wasn’t paying attention and didn’t hear it. 

It made him feel the first stab of guilt in a long time. But feeling the warmth of the sigil on his back, tingling as it knit its way slowly into his skin, the guilt faded away. This thing was too precious to tell anyone about yet. Not even Scott. 

* * *

“Listen, Derek, this is a weird request, but I think there’s something wrong with Stiles and I need your help.” Scott spoke in a rush the moment the phone was picked up, not even bothering to wait for Derek to answer. 

“Stiles? What did he do this time?” Derek’s skepticism rang through on the other end of the phone. 

“He’s been really withdrawn. Like, really withdrawn. And he’s been lying to me. There are things he wouldn’t tell me, but my best friend has never lied to me. Never. Do you think… It’s not possible that he’s been body snatched, is it?”

Derek snorted. “Scott…”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. But I grew up with Stiles. The guy can’t keep a secret to save his life, not from me. There’s something else going on, I just know it.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “So why don’t you tail him? Why call me?”

Scott sighed into the receiver. “Because what if it’s not? What if Stiles is just being Stiles and I’m wrong? What if, whatever it is, he just really can’t tell me about it, and then I go nosing about and ignoring his wishes?”

Derek sighed at the unnecessary drama teenagers brought into his life. He thought for a moment, before simply saying, “I’ll look into it” and hanging up. 

* * *

Stiles rolled his shoulders, feeling the warm tense of muscles there. The morning exercises had really started to help. He threw open his bag and pulled out the case of knives he’d made. He’d been practicing with a kitchen knife liberated from home, but the weight was vastly different. So while he lamented the damage he’d do to the fragile wood blades, he needed to practice. He pulled three out, hefting two. 

It was a fast, easy motion that lodged the spike into the foam board he’d brought along, just inside the third ring, and Stiles smirked. 

“What are you doing?”

Stiles whirled, a knife thrown from his hands before he really registered the voice. 

He was still shocked, though, when Derek wasn’t fast enough to dodge it and the weapon lodged itself in his shoulder. The impact sent Derek flying onto his back, rowan knife propelled in the other direction. Stiles caught it as it flew back at him, landing with a smack into his palm. There was a brief moment where he stared at the wooden knife in his hand, thinking that worked far better than he thought it would, before he loped over to Derek. 

“Shit. Derek what the hell are you doing here?”

Derek growled as he sat up, his eyes flashing. “First off, you’re on my property. Second off, if you don’t get this wolfsbane out of my shoulder in the next five seconds I’m ripping your throat out. With my teeth.”

Stiles moved quickly into action, going for his pack. He always kept extra wolfbane on him just in case. 

“I’m sorry, man, I’m really sorry, but you startled me. Don’t just go popping out on people who are armed, man.”

Derek gave him a look like he was willing him to drop dead. 

Stiles ignored it, burning a small pile of wolfsbane in the jar's cap. It sparked and smoked, cooling quickly. He flipped the burnt wolfsbane into the wound in one smooth motion, other hand coming up to press the powder into his broken skin. Derek growled again, but Stiles was still in one piece, so he considered this a win. 

He backpedaled to look in Derek’s face as the werewolf stood, trying to gauge the threat level of the situation. But other than a roll of his shoulders, Derek didn’t actually appear angry.

For a moment, they both just stood there looking at each other, not speaking, when finally Derek said, "Scott called me." 

Stiles pulled his eyebrows up in surprise. "Scott called you? What's wrong? Why would he call you first; why didn't he come to me? Is this a werewolf thing? Is this a werewolf alpha thing?"

"Stiles! He called about you!"

Stiles' expression shuttered closed. "What about me?"

"He said your behavior has been odd lately. I'm starting to suspect what's going on."

Stiles didn't say anything, the absurd urge to bolt making his knees buckle.

"I don't know why you look like I'm going to eat you but you aren't in trouble. At least, not from me."

There was a pause, before Stiles relaxed all at once like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "I'm so sick of dragging everyone down. I just want to be able to defend myself, defend the people I care about."

Derek laid a heavy hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I'm a werewolf. You think I don't understand the urge to keep the people I care about safe?"

“What do I do?” Stiles didn’t look up, fingers twiddling idly. 

“About Scott? No. I’m not getting in between you and your bromance with him.”

Stiles glared up. Then started pacing. “Look, I get it. Useless human. The less people who know about what I’m doing, the better. That way, people can just assume I don’t have a plan -”

“When in reality, you always have a plan.” Derek interrupted, finishing the thought. 

Stiles stopped, just staring at him. Derek continued. “I want to help you.”

It made Stiles nervous. Derek hadn’t been the greatest alpha in the world. He’d let his own past trauma interfere with the way he trained his wolves, and in the end, it had gone badly. 

But he’d wanted help. And finally, here was someone who said they would help him. Who acknowledged that Stiles was always thinking, always planning, and who was willing to help with that plan. “Okay.”

* * *

With Derek planning the physical routines, that gave Stiles extra time to work on the magic side of things, and after spending all that time researching, he finally started experimenting. 

He started small -trying to manipulate smoke as it traveled into the air, pulling on water and causing waves without touching it -moving things that were already in a state of flux. And he quickly worked up from there. 

The magic seemed to come easily and naturally. He suspected because he was still being gentle -still trying to work  _ with _ the elements at his disposal. Anything bigger than lighting a candle would be beyond him. 

And though he could light the candle, for some reason he couldn’t seem to  _ un _ light the candle. The wax-coated wick was designed to light, and it rebelled at the idea of being unlit. 

It was during an uphill run that Stiles finally decided to broach the subject with Derek. He paused to take a breath. Derek slowed as well. 

“I can transform into a werewolf if you need some motivation.”

Stiles took a gulp of water and continued on at a loping jog, slower than before but fast enough that Derek wouldn’t complain. “Actually I wanted to talk to you. I’m thinking about doing a ceremony. To bind myself to the earth. It’ll be dangerous, but I’ll be able to manipulate a lot more magic once I do it.”

Derek shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve never seen it happen. But I heard the emissaries had a ritual they would go through. It makes sense.”

Stiles stopped. “Yeah but the problem is the blood magic. From what I’ve read I’ll need to sacrifice at least some blood to seal the deal. But I’m basically flying blind here -Deaton all but told me to my face that he wouldn’t help me. In fact he did tell me to my face he wouldn’t help me. What if… what if I got the translation wrong, and just a little bit of blood spilled won’t do it?” 

Derek was silent for a moment, before rolling his shoulders and sweeping his hand in a way that encouraged Stiles to keep running. Then Derek said, “You’re the smartest guy I know. I’ve never heard you be wrong about something and I know for a fact you’ve been pouring over those books for days because you didn’t want to start too early and fuck it up immediately. Somehow I think you’ll be fine.”

Stiles was warmed by the most reassuring thing Derek had ever said to him, and he started planning the ritual. Full moons were strongest, but something told Stiles that would be a really bad idea, wandering around bleeding on a Full moon in Beacon Hills. He chose the waxing crescent instead. New Moons were for beginnings, and the waxing crescent symbolized coming into power. It was the next best thing for his purposes.

Part of him wanted to do it by himself, but a witness would be helpful. The best friend in him said it had to be Scott, but here was Derek, standing by him, and it was the easiest thing in the world to invite the older werewolf along. 

* * *

“Derek it’s been like three weeks. Please tell me something is wrong with Stiles.” Scott’s voice rang through. Derek already regretted picking up the phone.

He was silent for a beat too long. “Derek? What’s wrong? I was right, wasn’t I? He’s been bodysnatched -”

“Scott.” Derek cut in. The other wolf went quiet. Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose impatiently. “Stiles is fine. It’s the other thing.”

“Other thing? What other thing?” Scott replied innocently. Derek sighed. Of course. Of course he willfully forgot. 

“Stiles… he’s not in any danger he’s just… doing something he doesn’t want you to know about at this point in time.”

He could practically hear Scott’s jaw drop open. “What? No, that can’t be.”

“It is. I found out what was going on. Stiles wants to tell you himself, he just isn’t ready yet.” Derek had begun pacing in an effort to bottle in the need to bash Scott’s stupid head against something. 

“He’s not dying, is he? Please tell me my best friend isn’t dying.”

“He’s not dying.” Derek snapped. Then he hung up the phone. He couldn’t stand another minute of the doe-eyed loyalty Scott practically oozed every time he opened his mouth. How Stiles could stand the man, he had no idea. 

But then he looked at the phone with a pang of guilt. He could have told Scott. Stiles hadn’t actually told him he couldn’t tell Scott, just that he wanted more time. It was his own jealousy that stopped him.

It had been a long time since Derek had been someone’s preferred choice. A confidant. And he wasn’t going to let Scott butt into that. He wanted to keep Stiles to himself for as long as he could have him, best-friend-alpha be damned.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had done the research, though there was still a great deal of interpretation. Traditional circles required a north, south, east, and west point, but it seemed up to debate which elements corresponded with which point. He ended up needing to do a lot of research online as well, but the information there was even more dispersed, drawing from multiple different cultures, instead of just the druidic one. 

The research he found online put far less emphasis on blood sacrifice, and Stiles couldn’t help but imagine that the lack of blood was the reason less humans were able to tap into the magical forces of the world. The flow was so much weaker without a blood sacrifice; everything he read indicated it. But it was reassuring as well, and he ended up drawing hybrid elements from it, to bridge the gap between how much blood he was going to end up sacrificing and how much blood was normally required for these sorts of things. 

There seemed to be some debate as to whether or not he should use the original gaelic, or if it were better that he understood the words. But in the end, he memorized a string of gaelic -a plea to the earth to provide strength and will. He knew what it meant, more or less. So he felt that it was a fair trade. 

It would require a number of hours of sacrifice -and Stiles was genuinely frightened about it. The fasting he could do -he’d skipped meals before during a particularly intense research session. But the hours of silent meditation -silent as in  _ no talking _ -and that felt incredibly intimidating. 

But it had to be by choice. He could have taped his mouth shut -he could have even chosen a different sacrifice. But the silent meditation had the benefit of putting his mind in the appropriate setting for the final ritual -which would involve chanting and singing and spellwork. 

And when he asked Derek to stand watch over him as he meditated -as he would be unable to defend himself -Derek agreed easily. Almost too easily, as far as Stiles was concerned. 

“It’s called holding vigil, and you won’t be able to leave for the entire duration of the ritual. I don’t know how long I’ll be out of it, but it’ll be at least six hours of meditation before the ritual itself.”

Derek nodded. “You need me to do this for you.”

It was like it was just that simple. This was a need Stiles had, so Derek, being the one most readily available to provide for it, was going to. He’d done it before, Stiles realized now, for other members of the pack. 

He must have counted his materials half a dozen times. With his older friend helping him out now, he was able to acquire a dagger. Unfortunately, he’d only be allowed to use it for blood magic after he used it once. And the white sage had been surprisingly easy to procure. He had a dozen candles, to go around the circle, as well as a traditional silver chalice, a censer, four quartz stones -those had been far more difficult than anticipated, and an offering of food and drink. Normally, wine would be offered, but that, not even Derek was willing to provide to a minor.

In addition, he had a small cooler tucked away filled with sandwiches. Just because he couldn’t eat didn’t mean his guardian wasn’t allowed to, and he made sure Derek knew that. 

They drove out to the middle of the forest, and together, with Derek detecting any trace of predator animals and Stiles trying to find ley lines the way the book taught him. Once he found the right spot, he set about setting up his gear, practically shoving the cooler at Derek. Derek rolled his eyes, but said nothing, not wishing to spoil the atmosphere of the evening. 

The setup required some chanting -which he’d already experimented with before, and it took an hour just to get it set up properly. Normally, he would have used mountain ash, but with his guardian a werewolf, that wasn’t an option. The wolf needed to be able to pass in and out of the circle with little complications, as a defense both from external forces and from internal ones. And while candles were a good alternative, there was also the fire hazard to consider. So he’d spent an inordinate amount of time carving out a shallow ring of dirt, filling it with water to dampen the earth, and then lining the close edge with stones, then setting up the candles. Derek stood to the side, his pack of sandwiches resting haphazardly against a tree. He’d been given clear instructions not to touch anything. He was to stand guard. If an enemy came near, or if Stiles appeared to be in danger from the toll of the ritual, only then was Derek to interfere. Stiles barely gave him a glance as he finished lighting the inner candle ring. The result was a three-fold circle -and with his sage burning in the censer, all four elements were incorporated, so he felt good about it. In fact, he felt charged. Ready. Then he closed his eyes and drew himself inward. 

The meditation was surprisingly easy once he fell into it. The sounds of the forest lulled him into a calm, quiet mindset, and the energy he felt pulsating from the circle he’d constructed dropped him like a stone. 

It was like dreaming, being in this place. A wide expanse of grass was spread before him. But as he stood there, things started to spring up from the ground. A childhood object here, a memory there. Buildings, plants, animals. Some, he could tell, were unnecessary, and he reminded himself to clear his mind. 

It had never come this easily before, and once he felt secure in the illusion he found himself in, he realized why. There was a glowing creature standing in a road, one hand extended out to him.

He’d read about spirit guides, but never experienced one before. He knew from his reading that he was in full control here. He reached a hand after it, and walked away with where the guide led him.

He surfaced twelve times during his meditation. His ADHD couldn’t keep him focused for long, even in this state. He stretched each time, in a sort of dance, greeting the elements silently with his movement, so that even in his need to move, he was still encouraging his spell. He was being careful. It would be 6 hours before the moon was full in the sky. Six hours of silence, six hours with an insistent hunger gnawing at his gut. 

Derek was a vague non-presence on his radar. The wolf had started looping around the perimeter, and every once in a while would growl something away. Stiles was so absorbed in his meditation that he didn’t give any thought to analyzing what Derek could be scaring away. It just was. And he was safe, so there was no sense in worrying. 

He’d learned more in this one session than the months of research previously. And while much of it was still sort of vague, and seemed to vanish easily like a dream, it was still incredibly enlightening. There was a solid sort of feeling now. Like all he had to do was reach out to grasp onto the deep running currents of his magic. 

But still he waited. Until the moon was at its peak. It was immediate, the feeling once the moon slid into place. He drew in a rattling breath, and it was less than five seconds, less than the time it took him to reach the knife, before Derek was in the circle at the northern corner, watching him closely, ready to act should there be any need, seeming to sense that Stiles would need him here. 

He started chanting first, and midway through, drew a jagged line across his palm, letting the blood seep down into the bare earth. The next palm was a little trickier, but he managed it, allowing the knife to slip out of his bloody hands and rest carelessly on the ground. 

The ritual continued on for a good twenty minutes, blood dribbling down on the soil, but he could feel it building -feel the light of the moon even in this new state, feel the charge of the earth. His hard-won sacrifices came into play now, for after remaining silent for most of six hours -and for as much of the day as he could before that- his voice was packed with energy. His body was light and ready, empty as it was of food. In the end it would be nearly 50 hours that he’d gone without. 

Without even knowing what he was doing, he reached down with his right hand and drew a symbol in the blood pooling on the ground. Had he been more self-aware, he would have realized he was drawing a quaternary knot. But he was still in a trance, and wasn’t paying close attention to the movements. It was just instinct. His eyes slid shut, and he felt himself falling. 

It was a strange feeling. Logically, he knew he was still sitting in the circle, but his mind was falling, dropping into an endless well of magic and feeling. It was dark and beautiful, and for a moment, Stiles thought it would be wonderful to just drift in this endless sea forever. There was a pinprick of light at the bottom, and his curious nature had him wondering if he could fall deep enough to reach it. But he felt a bright blaze of light radiating from the north, and he knew that there was a world beyond the vast dark ocean of underneath that he had to return to. He drug himself out of the miry water, but the feeling of depth remained. It was like a current, just underneath his skin. It felt warm -almost heady. But the steady, bright presence of the body to his right kept him grounded. He took a moment to secure the feeling under his skin, steady in it, before he felt ready to try coming back. 

When Stiles opened his eyes, it was like he could feel something blazing open with them. It felt vaguely the same as opening one's eyes, though he had never given serious thought to what that feeling was.

He started to understand what the feeling was when, as he looked around, everything seemed to be overlaid with brightly-colored scatters, as though they were underwater, with little bubbles floating up to the surface. 

There were just lines of the stuff all over, haphazard, clinging to the trees and the ground but also passing through them in no real pattern.

"Stiles?"

Stiles turned to Derek's voice and instantly reeled backward in surprise. He took another look and chuckled.

There was a wolf aura overlaying Derek's entire body, large and more animalistic than any form Stiles had ever seen him take. But it didn't look threatening, the shiny blue aura, so Stiles just accepted it. He gave Derek a thumbs up. 

Derek looked far from reassured. "Your eyes."

Stiles frowned, pulling out his phone -glowing with electric green sparks, and turned on the camera function to try and look at his own eyes. 

Nothing looked strange -in fact it looked a little too normal under the sparkling emerald. He closed his eyes, noticing with a humorous sort of glee that the auras vibrated in the dark of his eyelids, laid out in ghostly forms of trees and earth and Derek. Then he closed those eyes too, the move requiring more effort than closing his physical eyes. He opened his eyelids and saw nothing but stable, physical things, the glittery auras gone from the earth. He looked at his image again in the camera. "What happened to them? They look okay to me."

Derek shifted from foot to foot. "They were glowing silver. They aren't anymore."

Stiles fist-pumped. "Best idea ever, man. This power boost works even better than I thought it would."

He went to stand and suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, vision tunneling in, knees giving out. Derek caught him easily, crossing the short distance between the two in the blink of an eye. "You're anemic from blood loss. I'll take you to Deaton."

"No." Stiles called weakly. "I need to earn it. The healing is part of the process."

Derek growled but acquiesced. They rushed through the take-down, which mostly involved Derek putting things where Stiles told him -save the knife, which he wrapped gingerly in silk with his stiff hands, and placed in a wooden box he’d prepared especially beforehand. He’d have to do the cleansing later. The circle of stones remained, but Stiles kicked one of the corners out, scattering the energy trapped in the now-popped bubble. They wound up back at Stiles' house, Derek racing away to get bandages. 

Stiles didn't have much, but after his run-in with Gerard, he'd bought the basics. 

Stiles pushed away the antiseptic. “Everything was clean. I don’t need all that. I told you, I have to earn it.”

The put-out look Derek gave him, bandages in hand, was so pathetic, Stiles immediately conjured an image of a puppy who was told not to chew on dad’s sneakers. He chuckled, but the sound was weak as he felt another wave of exhaustion pass through him. Derek rocked forward, as though needing to help but not wanting to intrude.

Stiles gestured him forward. “I’ll take the bandages, at least.”

The long slices in each palm hadn’t stopped bleeding. The blood was thick and sluggish -no doubt due to the hours of meditation and fasting he’d been doing. But it didn’t sting as Derek patted at it with a soft terry-cloth towel. He dipped it in water a couple of times, and eventually, Stiles was able to see past the sticky streaks of blood on his hands and examine the gash the spell had left.

It was clean. Straight. It would heal well. And in the next moment, Derek was pressing gauze to his palm and wrapping it tightly but gently with bandage. Then he did the other hand. 

“Thank you.” Stiles whispered. He closed his eyes, and felt his new, stronger eyes open. It would take a little bit of time to get used to that. But for now, he didn’t mind. The colors weren’t painful, though they were a little vibrant. And the information they provided was useful. He could see Derek’s aura fluctuating wildly, itching to take away his pain but daring not to. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” He said, eyes still closed. It hurt a little. But it should have hurt a lot more. 

Derek glanced up at him, startled. “How could you…?”

Stiles opened his real eyes again, and the auras leaked away slowly. He could see the exact moment his eyes stopped glowing silver, because the unnatural color caused Derek to bristle uneasily until it vanished. “I can see the way your aura threads your veins, seeking pain to take. But you’re trying to subdue the urge. It keeps coalescing and dissipating.”

Derek frowned. “I’m sorry.”

He was looking steadfast at Stiles’ hands as he worked now, and Stiles couldn’t quite tell what he was apologizing for -that he was doing it, or that Stiles knew he was doing it. 

After only a few more minutes, Derek was done, and he stood to leave. Stiles reached for his arm, bandaged hand brushing against warm skin. A tiny thread of black traced his forearm, and for a moment, the hot pulsating feeling in Stiles’ palms quieted, making him realize how much they actually did hurt, but the moment didn’t last, as Derek withdrew quickly, looking sheepish. 

Stiles didn’t let Derek’s awkward emotions scare him. “Can you get me some water please? Before you go?”

Stiles’ stomach took that moment to growl heavily, and Stiles blushed. “It’s fine, I’ll grab some food when I’m feeling more up to it. Just water, for now.”

Derek sighed, then retreated downstairs. A minute passed, and Stiles started to wonder where he was. Then another minute, and he could smell pancakes coming from the kitchen.

Stiles felt something warm light up his chest. Derek could really be a good guy when he tried. 

It was another five minutes before he heard the door open and close, his father’s voice taking on an alarmed tone. “Derek? What are you doing in my house?”

Stiles swore. He tried to climb out of bed and ended up falling on his face. But in another moment, he heard Derek’s calm tones respond. “Stiles called me. He said he felt like crap. I’m bringing him dinner.”

Stiles calmed for only a moment. Sounded plausible enough, right? Surely his father would buy it. But apparently he’d forgotten how used to lying the sheriff had become, as it only took a beat and a half for his father to respond, “uh huh. Let me remind you, I have a gun.”

“Okay, look. Yes, it’s a supernatural thing, but he’s fine. No injuries to speak of. He’s almost better. I’m just bringing him some food, I swear. He’s fine.”

In that moment, he thought that maybe telling his dad about all things supernatural might have been a mistake as he heard the older man bounding the stairs two at a time, calling, “Stiles?” He inch-wormed his way to the door, pulling himself upright by the handle and tugging it open to see his father reaching to rap against the door. 

“Hey dad. Alive and intact, as you can see. Can I go back to bed and wait for Derek to bring me pancakes please?” 

His father stared at him helplessly, taking in the pallor of his face and the unnatural stillness of his form as he rested heavy against the doorframe, nothing more than the center strip of his face and torso showing in the gap in the door. “Are you sure you’re okay, Stiles?”

Stiles mustered up a brave grin. “Yeah, Dad. Just exhausted.”

His dad nodded slowly. “Okay… I’ll just go get myself some fatty, delicious hamburgers then.”

Stiles glared at him and snorted halfheartedly, but he didn’t have the energy to take the bait. He slipped the door closed and collapsed against the frame, not even bothering to head back to the bed. His head was swimming and throbbing in time with the pulsing on his hands. For one horrible moment, he thought that perhaps he did the spell wrong after all. 

He was jostled by Derek attempting to open the door. He inched over to the side and opened it for him, not even bothering to stand from his position on the floor. 

Derek, the confusing bastard, just sat against the frame himself and handed Stiles a cup with a straw, balancing two plates of pancakes in the other hand. 

Stiles was impressed. The pancakes were blueberry. Fruit for energy, wheat for solidity. And instead of syrup, he’d sliced strawberries and put a dash of whipped cream on the top. He hadn’t realized Derek was such a talented cook. He knew for a fact they didn’t have any ready-made whipped cream. He must have whipped it himself. 

“Thank you.” 

Derek smiled in a way that Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen before, saying “You said that already.”

Stiles felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, somehow, it’s still true.”

As he was eating, he somehow managed to slip until he was awkwardly leaning against Derek’s shoulder. When he realized, he tried to get up, but his limbs didn’t want to work right. Derek simply scooted towards him, looking all at once more domestic than Stiles had ever thought possible, until Stiles was no longer at such an awkward angle. But Derek didn’t shove him off, and Stiles felt something warm bloom in his chest. He’d chosen right. Derek made a good vanguard. 

Stiles was mulishly trying to destroy his very last pancake when he fell asleep. While he could remember the pancake, he didn’t remember falling asleep, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the middle of the night in his bed, without his shoes. 

He got the strange impression that Derek was on the roof. A quick peek with the newly acquired “night vision” had him realizing that it was omni-directional. Even with his eyes closed, he could spread his sense wherever he wanted it. The wolf was, indeed on the roof, though something in his aura seemed to sense his prodding. He was moving towards the window now. 

Derek loped into the open window gracefully, coming to stand awkwardly over Stiles’ bed. He sat up, but didn’t try to stand. The silence between them stretched -uncomfortable but less tense than their previous dealings with each other - and finally, Stiles asked, “What time is it?”

He groped at his jeans pockets for his phone, but it wasn’t in his pockets or the bedside table. “It’s 4:30 AM. You’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours. You okay?”

It sounded strange hearing something as easy-going and normal as “okay” from the gruff Derek Hale, but Stiles just nodded. “Yeah I’m just hungry again.”

“Your father is asleep. I didn’t realize he worked the night shift.”

“Only on weekends because of parties and drunk teenagers.” Stiles replied, attempting to stand. He was still a little shaky, sight browning in and out. But Derek didn’t help him this time. Stiles was thankful. He didn’t know how much more of Nice Derek he could stand.

At the door, Stiles said, “Look unless you want to join me for an early breakfast, you should probably go home. Get some sleep of your own. I’m okay.”

Derek didn’t move or reply. Stiles rolled his eyes and wandered downstairs, making a portion and a half of eggs, just in case. But when he got back to his room, Derek was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Geez, go easy on me would ya! Fragile human over here.” Stiles groaned as he rolled to get up. The movement was aborted as he felt something hard slam into his back, forcing him to the ground again. 

“You think Deucalion would have gone easy on you? You think the omegas would have gone easy on you? They would be glad to run into a fragile human. You make for better prey.”

The heavy pressure of Derek holding him down vanished as the werewolf walked around to kneel in front of Stiles. Stiles crawled up to a sitting position, glaring up at the other man. 

“Stiles, you’re smarter than any of us. If you can’t match me for strength, if you can’t match my speed, be smarter. You need to learn to think on your feet.”

Stiles glanced down. He had to admit that he wasn’t always great when it came to thinking under pressure. If he was on his game, then everything was great. But if he lost focus even for a second, then his mind was scattered. 

“Maybe… maybe you need an anchor.”

“What, like Allison?” Stiles was picking at the dirt aimlessly in front of him, not meeting Derek’s gaze. He still wasn’t used to this nice version of Derek. 

“Anchors give us focus. It’s how we stay human. Maybe you need something to stay focused on as well.”

Stiles grinned up at him. “Or maybe it’s like you said. Maybe I just need to be smarter than you.”

With that, Stiles threw his other, scratched hand, onto the design he’d been poking into the ground. Derek was blown back in a wave of pressure. He glanced at Stiles, who was standing there with a cocky smirk on his face, arms crossed. Derek laughed shortly. “Did you plan that whole thing?”

Stiles rolled his shoulders, shaking his arms out as though he were preparing for a fight. “Well, like you said. Think on your feet. I saw an opportunity and I used it to my advantage.”

As the two sat there, catching their breath, Derek finally asked what had been niggling at the back of his mind since they started all of this. "Why didn't you tell Scott about this? He could have helped you."

Stiles was quiet for a moment. "At first, it was because I didn't want help from the werewolves. I wanted advice about what a human could do, and a werewolf wouldn't be able to help me, not at first. I needed someone who wasn’t in the inner wolfy circle."

"What changed?" Derek prompted.

Stiles sighed, then pulled out his phone and started scrolling through text messages. "It's stupid and a little petty, but then I wanted him to offer. I wanted someone to notice. I was being secretive, but sloppy. I wanted someone to look at what I was doing and say, 'hey, why don't you train with us.' So then I made the suggestion that Scott spar with Allison and this was the response I got."

Derek read the messages swiftly, scrunching his brow up. "I don't..."

Stiles ran a hand across his short hair. "Like I said, it's stupid. But he didn't even consider me. Not only did he not invite me when he realized it was going to be most of the pack, he didn't even think about it. He thought of you before he thought of me! Um, no offense."

Derek waived the concern off. It was another quiet moment before he realized, "I offered."

Stiles nodded. "I honestly can say I'm surprised it was Derek Hale of all people who noticed me first. But I think it's worked out quite well, in the end."

Derek's mouth upturned in the hint of a smile. But he didn’t respond, remaining quiet for a long beat. Then, instead of responding to Stiles’ own turmoil, he said, “You accepted.”

Stiles looked at him sharply. His brow scrunched up. “Isaac -”

“Isn’t here. He turned tail and ran the first chance he could. He took what I had to offer but didn’t stick it out. I know now that part of that was my fault.”

Stiles snorted. Derek glared. “Okay, a lot of it was my fault. But all I ever wanted was a pack. And when I asked if I could help you, not if I could make you stronger, but if I could help you, you said yes. You wanted  _ my _ help. Not the help of an alpha. Mine.”

Stiles was quiet, too. “Hey, you think maybe we should join the others?”

Derek’s response was immediate. “Yes.”

But something about the tone made Stiles pause. He looked Derek over. “You don’t want to, though, do you?”

Derek shrugged. “I’m not the alpha there. Scott is. And I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.”

Stiles knocked his shoulder into Derek’s. “Admit it, you just want to keep me all for yourself.”

“That too.” Derek replied easily.

It wasn’t the response Stiles was expecting. He’d expected biting sarcasm, maybe a jibe at his anything. Not this gentle, possessive, friendly honesty. His face flushed and his ears went hot. He went quiet, not knowing how to respond. 

Derek, sensing the awkwardness, got up. “Maybe we can switch off or something.”

Stiles stood as well, ready for the change in subject as they started round two.

* * *

Scott gave him an enormous hug when he saw them, seeming to pick up on the fact that Stiles and Derek crashing his werewolf training party meant he was ready to tell Scott what was going on. 

At some point, they’d picked up the other twin, and Stiles felt a hot spike of betrayal as he saw that it really was everyone except for Stiles and Derek. He swallowed the feeling. A large part of that was his own fault. 

They all stood there awkwardly for a moment. Stiles didn’t know where to start, and Scott looked like he expected Stiles to bolt if he said the wrong thing. It was practically habit that had Stiles glancing briefly to Derek for guidance, who caught the look with the well-practiced ease of two people who are so close that they are always aware of changes in their body language. 

“Why don’t you catch us up to speed, Scott?” Derek ended up saying. 

Scott, to his benefit, did not immediately start shouting, though his hackles rose and his eyes flashed red. He glanced between Stiles and Derek, picking up on their easy camaraderie with jealousy in his alpha-red eyes. 

And then the moment was over, Scott was back to being just Scott, though he looked a little more betrayed now. “We’ve been working on group tactics and how to dodge artillery.”

The uncomfortable feeling of resentment welled up in Stiles again, but he forced it back quickly. Of course they were working on group tactics without him. Because he wasn’t part of the group. Then he caught the look Derek was giving him.

It was practically feral delight. His fangs were showing and he was grinning. Stiles shot him a confused look. So Derek replied. “We’ve been working on tactics too. So before we swap notes, how about we put it to the test. You and your betas against Stiles and I.” 

Stiles started thinking in overdrive. Allison would be a wildcard, as a human, and barriers didn’t hold up well to projectiles. But without her weapons, she’d be useless. A well-placed knife would cut the string of that bow easily, if she didn’t know to expect it, and the rest of the wolves would be easy to round up one-by-one, with Derek to keep them distracted. 

It was like listening to the rest of the conversation underwater, hearing the betas laughing at the suggestion. 

“You can’t possibly… Derek, you can’t fight six against one, even if you’ve been on your own for a lot longer. We know what we’re doing now; it’d be an unfair fight.”

Stiles didn’t bother waiting for them to finish bantering as he uncapped a vial on his belt. He threw the contents into the air and it formed a rough circle. Placing his hand in the center, it shot towards the hand seemingly at random, forming a floating sigil.

It took no more than two seconds, and the betas and Scott were so shocked that they didn’t have time to react. A shouted word, and the spell pulsed outward. 

For Derek and Stiles, it would seem as though nothing had happened. But for everyone on the other side of the spell, it would be as though a flash grenade had gone off in front of their face. Because that’s what the vial was: gunpowder. 

Stiles ran. He found a space where he could take cover, aiming his one metal knife towards the bowstring in Allison’s hands. She was moving -already drawing for an arrow despite not being able to see -but he still caught the string. It would snap the minute she tried to put any tension on it. 

Derek stayed where he was, and Stiles realized that they were on exactly the same wavelength with this. Derek was the threat; he would essentially act as bait. 

Stiles dove behind the makeshift kitchen. He wouldn’t have many shots before he lost the element of surprise. And he planned on taking out the twins with it. 

They fought well as a unit -moreso than any of the others. And they were also the two most combat-ready. They were the primary threat here, second to Allison. 

In the safety of his alcove, he worked a spell into two of his spikes. It would dissipate on contact, but they would still work as weapons after that. 

It took longer than he would have liked, working the white powder into the wood, fusing it with his magic. But he could hear Derek holding his own. 

He peeked around the alcove to see -predictably -that Isaac and Erica had been pushed back. Scott was waiting in the wings as the twins tried to hold Derek down so Boyd could get a good shot in. 

He smirked. They were practically lining the shots up for him. He jumped onto the table and let his stakes fly. Derek, catching his movements, used the twin’s efforts against them, and made sure they were lined up.

They were blasted back with his wolfsbane-laced rowan knives, and the knives came hurtling back towards him. 

He caught them on his way forward. Still no one was making a move to stop him, so he quickly dipped all five fingers in a jar of black tarrish liquid and advanced on Allison. She was the most defensive, of course, but even then only reached for her dull kunai. They traded blocks, and he absorbed a kick to the side, but even hampered with only one hand as he was, he was able to get his palm to her face. 

It must have been a combination of surprise at this strange tactic, and the skullcap taking effect. But he was able to draw the sigil on her forehead surprisingly easily, and she went slack, barely remaining standing, every major muscle paralyzed.

It was a weak paralysis. She would still be able to breathe, blink, swallow… and with great effort, move arms and legs. It would probably take all her concentration to simply remain standing. 

He had to dodge a claw then as it came hurtling towards his face. 

It was Erica -the only one who would fight like a hellion without regard for his person. The next blow he blocked with his rowan stakes, smirking in satisfaction as her arm was blasted back. The force would have been enough to dislocate a human joint, but it took only a moment for her to advance again. 

He swapped one of the stakes into his other hand -still covered in a thin film of skullcap. And lashed out. 

She was fast, there was no doubt about that. And while his heightened senses would have given him the ability to predict her movements, he didn’t want to tip his hand on that quite yet. 

Finally she figured out that attacking with her claws was going to get her nowhere, and she aimed a kick at his stomach. He dodged enough that he didn’t get the full force of the blow, and he was able to scratch her with the skullcap on the way, but he was forced backward. 

Stiles landed heavy on the ground, breath forced out. But Erica didn’t advance on him. He looked up at her to see her swerving precariously, trying to move but clearly disoriented. He used the opportunity to pull a spellscroll out, and place it on her person. She dropped like a stone.

The prepped spells were hard to get onto a person, but effective. 

Stiles looked around. Boyd was wheezing on the ground with a heavy gash on his chest, and Isaac and Scott were both advancing on Derek. He pulled another spell. 

Boyd -distracted and injured -was easy to drop, and a stake thrown in the direction of both Isaac and Scott had them thrown enough that they lost their advantage. 

One of his stakes skittered at a bad angle, but he caught the other as he charged forward. He met Derek and turned so he could face both Isaac and Scott. 

Scott wasn’t terribly harmed, though he was bleeding, and Isaac, despite a marked-up forearm and a bruise from the stake he’d thrown, was laughing. 

“Damn.” Isaac exclaimed, looking around and seeming to finally realize how handedly they’d been beaten. It had taken no more than 20 minutes, and they were now one-on-one. Granted, Isaac was clever. He didn’t just attack with brute strength; he thought about what he was doing with that strength too. And Scott had a boost from being the Alpha, so he would be hard to take out regardless. But Scott, realizing that Allison was stone-still, that half the pack had been poisoned, either unconscious or on the ground, roared ferociously. He lunged, leaping over Stiles entirely to lash at the back of Derek’s head. They rolled, Derek winding up on the bottom with Scott on top of him. He raised one clawed hand, ready to, it seemed, rip Derek’s throat out. 

Stiles didn’t have time to register the visceral bloodlust on anything more than an instinctual level, and he cried out - a wordless shout. 

It was like time moved in slow motion. He could feel the magic rushing to the surface as everything all at once became overlaid with bursts of color -reds and golds and blues. He could feel his magic pulse out in a wave - even though it took less than a second, it all felt much slower. The sound of his shout sent ripples into the black - collided with the red wolf inside and shove it backwards.

Seeming to sense the force pressing against his oversoul, Scott looked up at him. Stiles could feel the moments ticking by, Scott’s oversoul slowly floating away from his body, Scott’s arm still raised to strike. His eyes locked with Stiles’ in an expression that hadn’t quite yet turned to betrayal. 1 second passed. 2. 3.

Then Derek kicked out with both feet. Scott went flying. He hit the opposite wall of the warehouse 12 feet up, and fell back down again. He hit the ground hard, bouncing slightly, and half a second later, his oversoul fell into his already unconscious body, having trailed too late to protect him from the force of the impact.

Stiles rubbed his head sheepishly, feeling mildly guilty and mildly proud. Isaac was standing stock-still off to the side, and when both Derek and Stiles looked at him expectantly, he raised his hands in surrender.   
“Pass.” Isaac announced decidedly. 

It was only then that Stiles moved, reached for the bag he’d discarded behind the bar. He pulled out a jar of grey paste, holding it out to Derek. Derek gave him an objectionable glare, and Stiles simply shook the paste in his face. Derek, with an unbecoming sigh, scooped a bit of the paste out onto his fingers and advanced on Isaac, who, after a moment’s rebellion, allowed the paste to be rubbed into the angry blackened bruise on his arm. The minor poisoning faded and the bruise healed.

“Is that wolfsbane? Aren’t you supposed to burn it? Why isn’t it hurting you?” Isaac asked.

Derek’s mullish face turned amused. “It’s deactivated wolfsbane charcoal, mixed with shea butter and left to charge in the light of the full moon. Stiles invented it. Believe me that was not a fun month of experimentation.”

Meanwhile, Stiles was pulling up spells and healing the other wolves. When Derek approached him again, he handed the container off. 

There was still Allison to deal with. She was glaring daggers at him, eyes following his every move. He removed a rag from one of the shelves and ran it under the questionable taps at the bar. They made a screeching noise when they were turned on, but the water ran clear. 

He wiped the viscous liquid off her forehead, and she immediately slashed at him with the kunai still in her hand.

Stiles sprang backward, but he hadn’t been expecting it, and the weapon cut a long shallow gash from hip to diaphragm. Stiles stared warily, but she didn’t move after that, sheathing her kunai cautiously.

Allison may have been reckless and a bit bloodthirsty, but she wasn’t stupid. Stiles relaxed as well. 

Derek growled in concern from his position bent over a prone Aiden. For a moment, Stiles was worried that something was wrong, but as he approached, Derek fixed his gaze to Stiles’ torn shirt, and he realized the concern was directed at him. Stiles patted him on the shoulder. 

“Finish up, Derek.”

“So what now?” Asked Allison, staring at their unconscious Alpha. 

“Uh, oops.” Stiles said, before Derek had a chance to say anything. “One of you should probably take him home. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be out for a couple of hours.”

Isaac was lifting an unconscious Erica up. “Might as well take them all home. You certainly know how to make an entrance, Stiles.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, to try and disperse the credit, but he could see there was no point. They knew. 

“Uh, I guess we’ll meet you next time? You do this every two weeks, right?” Stiles was starting to feel a little more guilty, staring at the wolves in various states of disorientation, but then he felt Derek’s warm weight leaning against him, smelled the blood that was already drying on the back of his head, and felt a giddy rush of success. He’d explain to Scott tomorrow.

He left with Derek, feeling slightly bereft, who followed him up into his room. As Derek peeked around the corner to the bathroom, Stiles whooped. “D, that was awesome!”

Derek returned with the first aid kit and a bowl of warm water and said sternly, “Don’t call me that.”

“Sourwolf.” Stiles mumbled affectionately under his breath.

Derek grabbed at Stiles’ shirt and Stiles, realizing what Derek was trying to do, batted his hands away and flailed backward. “Hey, man it’s cool, I’ve got it.”

Derek glared. Stiles glared back. Derek growled, eyes turning blue. Stiles flopped like a beached fish in his attempt to get his shirt off as rapidly as possible. 

“God, how can you still be so intimidating, jesus.” He whined, bunching the shirt up in one hand but resistantly hanging on to it.

Standing there with someone else in his room, chest exposed, Stiles realized suddenly that he actually possessed abs. All that hard work had started to pay off, he pondered, gently running a finger over the muscles that had crept up on him.

“If you’re done fondling yourself, I’d like to get you cleaned up before your father comes home and finds me taking care of your injured ass. Again.”

Stiles snorted, hand dropping. But he didn’t know what to say. Stiles reflected glumly that this was possibly the most naked he’d ever been in front of another person. The vulnerability made him feel fidgety, and he started tapping just as Derek was reaching with a pale brown cloth to wipe the crusted blood off of his stomach. Derek growled. “Don’t move.”

“Look maybe you should just -” A look from Derek silenced the objection Stiles was about to reiterate. He took several bracing breaths, trying to remember the calm, safe feeling he’d had the last time Derek had bandaged him up. Why was he so nervous now?

The water was warm on his skin, and tingly in a way that suggested strongly he’d added witch hazel from the first aid kit to the water before coming out with it. He couldn’t help the twitches the gentle, tickling touch sent through his stomach. Derek growled again, softly, and Stiles threw both hands up in the air in an act of resistant uselessness.

“What do you want from me, Derek? Telling an ADHD kid to stop moving is like telling a werewolf not to turn on the full moon. I can’t help it.”

“What’s the point of all that magic if you still heal like a human?” Derek finally asked heatedly.

Sharply, Stiles realized what the problem was. Derek was angry. Angry in that concerned way that parents get when their kid runs out into traffic. He didn’t feel safe with Derek so close to his vulnerable stomach because Derek’s body language was coiled and tight. He still found the icy blue eyes of his wolf intimidating because they came with a genuine heat behind them. 

Stiles said nothing in reply for a long time. As Derek was dropping the now-red towel into the bloodied water for the last time and pulling out swatches of gauze, Stiles finally found the words he was looking for. “I’m not supernatural. Not really. I’ve unlocked a lot of buried knowledge but I haven’t fundamentally changed. That kind of a transformation requires significantly more sacrifice. Sacrifice I’m not willing to make.”

Derek didn’t ask him what that sacrifice would be. He had a sense he understood what Stiles was referring to. People like Derek didn’t heal like humans because they were not human. Stiles was unwilling to give up his humanity - had always been unwilling to give it up, he got the sense. Derek asked quietly, “Why did you never ask Scott to turn you?”

Stiles started twitching again, saying, “You know why.”

“Tell me.”

Stiles smiled hollowly. “Actually it was your uncle who offered to turn me first. He’d… hurt so many people. And then you and the way you treated Isaac and Erica and Boyd. The alpha pack….”

Stiles trailed off wistfully. “Most of the werewolves I’ve met have been horrible, Derek.”

Derek regarded him sharply. “But the pack…”

“Erica, you, Scott, the twins. All of those people have genuinely tried to murder me. Okay with Scott it was largely just threats right at the start. But I mean I knew Boyd before. We were. Maybe not friends. But we got along.”

Stiles shook his head at Derek, watching him wrap medical bandages around his stomach for a moment. Stiles helpfully held the gauze in place as Derek made several passes. “I want to be stronger, yes. And maybe once, really early on, when it was just me and Scott, I wanted to be a werewolf too. But I’ve learned better now. Being a werewolf means you’re strong, yeah. And fast. That you can heal, that you know when people are lying. But it also turns you into a ruthless killing machine. How many people have died, Derek, since we were shoved into this world? How many of your people died?”

Derek’s roar was harder that time, fierce and angry. But somehow Stiles wasn’t afraid. He was right. He knew it. Derek had lost more than probably any of them. All because they were werewolves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all thanks for reading! As an update we've reached the last full chapter I have written so it may be more than a week before the next chapter comes out. But I do have an ending planned and most of chapter five. I'm currently shooting for about ten chapters.


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